Between the Glitter and the Gray
by stardust923
Summary: "Oh, come on!" Mike's eyes widen at the feminine shriek coming from the living room. "Pass interference!" A series of unrelated one-shots and drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **__I decided that even though my Mike/Rachel fic is currently unfinished, I needed to motivate myself to write more often. Thus, I set myself a challenge: write 50 Glee drabbles before I leave South Africa on August 14__th__. This amounts to more than one per day. Hopefully I will be able to complete this project on time, and with any luck, writing the drabbles will in turn inspire me to update Loud and Clear more quickly. Wish me luck!_

_**Disclaimer: **__No, they are not mine. If only._

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He wakes up to the sound of someone pounding on the door of his room, one of the few singles in the dorm. Groaning, he rolls over to see the glowing green numbers on his digital clock read 2:54. He continues to lie there, staring at the ceiling and hoping that whoever it is will go away, but no such luck. He stumbles out of the comfort of his bed and groggily makes his way to the door.

He comes wide awake and his heart contorts when he throws the door open to see his best friend standing there in pyjama pants and a sweatshirt, eyes red and puffy, tears trailing down her cheeks. "Oh, Rach," he says, opening his arms to her. She falls gratefully into his embrace, sobbing into his t-shirt clad chest until her tears subside. He doesn't say anything when she pulls back to wipe her eyes, only pulls her all the way into the room, shutting the door behind them.

"I don't want to talk about it right now," she murmurs through her sniffles.

"Okay," he says unquestioningly. He moves to sit on the full-sized bed that takes up much of the space in the room and pats the space next to him. "Movie?"

She smiles weakly and sits next to him, leaning into his side when he wraps an arm around her waist. "That sounds good. You choose."

"Alright. You relax, I'll set everything up," he says, kissing the top of her head before getting up to turn his computer monitor towards the bed. She pulls off her hooded sweatshirt to reveal a black tank top, and gets all the way onto his bed to lean back against the wall where his pillows are. He pops a DVD into his computer and starts the movie before hopping onto the bed beside her.

"The Usual Suspects," she says as she scoots over to give him more room. "The first movie we watched together."

He nods, arranging his two pillows against the wall before settling back on them. She nestles into his side, resting her head on his chest as he drops his arm across her shoulders, squeezing her arm reassuringly.

She breaks the silence half an hour into the movie. "We broke up," she mumbles into his shirt, clutching at it with her hand. "I saw him kissing his lab partner." His heart breaks for the tiny girl at his side when she continues in a whisper, "Why am I never enough? Never _good _enough?"

He takes a deep breath. "It's not you, Rach. This is all about _him_, about his stupidity, and the stupidity of the guys you've dated before," he comforts her. "It has nothing to do with _you_. Any guy dumb enough to let you get away doesn't deserve you anyway."

She absorbs his words for a few minutes, and a small smile tugs at her lips. "Don't _you _ever let me go, Matt. I don't think I could take losing you," she says softly.

His breath catches for a second, and he tightens his hold on her. "Never," he agrees quietly.

They make it through another forty-five minutes before they start nodding off. He manages to get them both settled under his covers, but allows the movie to continue playing in the background. He smiles slightly as she snuggles close to him trustingly, resting on her side with her head on his chest, his hand holding the arm she drapes across his abdomen. As she drifts off to sleep, her legs tangled with his, she can't help but think there is nowhere else in the world she would rather be.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**__ Still not mine._

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The Latina's jaw drops as she watches a familiar figure tumbling across the mats in the school gym, music blaring in the background. She finds her voice again as the girl in question completes a second tumbling pass. "Berry!"

The petite brunette stills, then slowly turns around. "Yes, Santana?"

"_Where_ did you learn to do that?" demands the fiery Cheerio captain.

"I've taken gymnastics for years. I haven't competed in a long time, though," responds the singer cautiously. "Why?"

Santana smirks. "Lauren sprained her ankle at practice yesterday. We need another girl to fill in for her for the next couple weeks."

Rachel looks at her in confusion. "Fill in for her? For what. . ." her voice trails off as realization dawns on her. "Oh, _no_. You cannot be serious."

"I'm completely serious, Berry. Coach will kick my ass if we can't perform because we don't have enough girls," scowls Santana.

She folds her arms across her chest. "Absolutely not. How do I know this isn't another twisted plan that results in my being humiliated in front of the entire school?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I haven't been tormenting you recently. I haven't called you Manhands or RuPaul in, like, weeks."

Rachel actually snorts. "_That's_ your idea of being nice to me? Not calling me humiliating and degrading names?"

Santana sighs, because of course Rachel has no way of knowing that she banned the Cheerios from calling the singer anything that wasn't actually her name. She doesn't know that Lauren sprained her ankle because Santana decided to have her do an extra set of toe-touches when she caught the blonde drawing a pornographic picture of Rachel on the wall of the second floor girls' room. She doesn't know that Santana enlisted the aid of Puck, Mike _and _Matt to keep Karofsky the hell away from her. She has no way of knowing that Santana had decided that Rachel may have been ten kinds of crazy, but she was _Glee's_ crazy, _Santana's_ crazy. And no one messes with anything that Santana considers hers. Of course, there is no way she's telling any of that to _Rachel_.

"Whatever Berry. I haven't been any more of a bitch to you recently than I am to anyone else at this school. _That's_ me being nice."

"That may be so, but I'm still not filling in for your injured Cheerio."

"Why the hell not?"

"Please. Do I _look_ like a cheerleader? The second anyone from this school sees me in a Cheerio uniform I have no doubt they will laugh me off the field. I doubt that's the kind of reception you want for your squad."

"Seriously?" scoffs the Latina. "If anyone sees you in a Cheerio uniform, they'll assume you _are_ a Cheerio. And _nobody_ laughs a Cheerio off the field."

"Perhaps I am not being sufficiently clear. I simply do not want to be a Cheerio."

"_Every_ girl at this school wants to be a Cheerio. Come on. You apparently can handle the tumbling, the skirt isn't any shorter than anything you would usually wear, and I _know_ you like to perform."

"Be that as it may. I am still not going to fill in the temporary spot. I have quite enough on my plate without learning cheerleading routines that I would only need for a few weeks."

Santana stares at her in astonishment, because _when_ did Rachel Berry grow a backbone? She thinks over the singer's words, though, and begins to smile slyly. She has a plan. Santana Lopez _always_ gets what she wants, and right now? She wants Rachel Berry to be a Cheerio.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimed.**_

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Kurt takes a deep breath, picks up the bouquet of lilies and irises on the passenger seat, and steps out of his car into the crisp autumn air. As he starts the short walk, he thinks about what he wants to get out, about the hundreds of things he could say.

_I've been practicing really hard. I really want that Defying Gravity solo, and I _know _I can hit the high F._

_I've had to study a lot for the past few weeks; I got a B- on my last math test, and I know I can do better. I need to do better to get into a good performing arts school._

_I've been thinking about trying out for the spring play next semester. I really think I could do a good job, and I've been spending hours looking for the perfect monologue for my audition._

_You would not believe how many hours I've been working in Dad's garage for the past month. But it all paid off, because I finally have enough money to get that Hermes watch I've been eyeing for so long._

_I'm sorry it's been so long. School and Glee and football have really been taking up a lot of my time. Yes, I know how you feel about football, but sometimes it's nice to feel like I'm one of the guys. As much as I can be, anyway. Plus it's really funny to get the guys to dance on the field._

_I'm doing the best I can, but sometimes everything just gets to be too much, and I just need to spend some time alone, you know?_

_There's this amazing summer performing arts program in Los Angeles. It's really competitive, but I really think I have a good shot at getting in, so I've had to dedicate almost all my free time to pulling together my portfolio to send them. With any luck I'll get an audition in a few months._

He reaches his destination, and takes a deep breath, wondering where to begin. As it turns out, there's really only way to start.

"It's me, Kurt. I miss you so much Mom."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Still not mine.**_

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She sits on the porch swing in front of Rachel's house, wondering how her life got so out of control so quickly. With clinical detachment, she goes over the events of the last several months in her head.

_Finn starting to pull away a little. Feeling fat after Cheerio weigh-ins because I gained half a pound. Finn being distracted by Rachel Berry and joining Glee club. Seeking comfort in Puck. Finding out I'm pregnant. Joining Glee club myself. Getting kicked off the Cheerios and out of my own home. Moving between friends' houses for weeks. Everyone finding out that Puck is the father. Finn dumping me. Moving in with Rachel Berry. Actually becoming friends, _close friends_, with Rachel Berry._

_The miscarriage._

She examines it all dispassionately, allowing the numbness to seep through her. It is the only thing she can allow herself to feel right now. If any emotion escapes from where she has it all bottled up, she will have a complete meltdown. She is sure of it.

She hears the door open behind her, and the sound of someone scuffing their feet as they approach.

"Quinn?"

"Puck."

"Are you, you know, okay?"

She laughs humourlessly. _Am I okay?_ _Is it okay to feel torn in half because of having a miscarriage? Is it okay to feel like my world is crashing down because I lost a child I never wanted? Is it okay to be relieved at having a miscarriage because my life can start to go back to normal?_ "As okay as can be expected, I guess."

"Is there anything. . . I mean, can I. . . do you. . ." he trails off, and although she never turns to face him, she can hear the raw grief in his voice.

"No," she says quietly. "_Please_ don't take this the wrong way, but can you just leave me alone for a few hours? I don't think I can be near you right now. Go back in to Rachel, I know she's worried about you, and you need her."

He sighs, but acquiesces. "Okay. We're right inside if you need anything."

She hears the door clicking shut, and wearily closes her eyes, listening to the sounds around her for a few seconds. A few birds are chirping, and she can hear the occasional car passing by, but otherwise it is quiet. She opens her eyes again, and stares off into the distance.

A few minutes pass, then she sees a familiar blue Chevy pull into the Berrys' driveway. She watches the lanky boy in the letterman jacket get out of the car and walk towards her. She scoots over wordlessly to give him more room on the swing. He sits next to her, but doesn't say anything.

She is the one who finally breaks the silence. "Why. . .?"

He shrugs. "Puck. He called, said you really needed me."

"He did?" Her voice cracks.

"Yeah." He glances over, taking note of the way she shivers slightly. "Here," he says, pulling off his jacket to drape it over her.

She gives him a strange, questioning look. "Finn?"

A bitter, crooked smile crosses his face. "I'm supposed to give my jacket to my girl when she's cold, right?"

"Your girl," she whispers sadly, feeling a tear fall down her cheek. Suddenly, her carefully constructed walls are crumbling, and she is sobbing for the first time since it happened.

He gathers her carefully into his arms, not indifferent to the twist of fate that the broken, shuddering girl who is crying into his shoulder is the same girl who broke him in the first place.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:**__ Ack! I feel like I'm already falling behind schedule with these. I'll have to write a lot of these this weekend, especially since I'll be taking a short vacation next weekend. Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, and alerted this series of drabbles! Feel free to let me know if you have any requests._

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Mike thinks it's a joke the first time someone tells him that Finn joined the glee club. Seriously, the _quarterback_ joining the most mocked group in school? Not likely.

But then Puck is talking about seeing Finn in the auditorium, singing some Journey song with Rachel Berry, and Quinn is bitching about her boyfriend spending time with Manhands. Everyone starts talking about the most popular guy in school joining the show choir, but Finn doesn't make any move to quit.

Mike begins to wonder if he would be brave enough to join glee himself. He has a pretty decent voice, and the dancing part? He would totally _own_ it. Still, he's not prepared for the social ostracism that comes with being in New Directions, even if it does look like they have a lot of fun. He's a nice guy—never takes part in slushying anyone or any of the other stupid pranks that some of the guys on the football team are fond of—but he likes being at the top of the high school food chain. Or at least not at the bottom. He can't help it. He's a teenager.

So when Puck comes up to him one day to say that Mike has to join glee club with him and Matt, Mike stares at him like he's speaking Russian. Because this is Puck. _Puck_. Him telling Mike to join the show choir is like him telling Mike that pigs have started flying. And really, Mike isn't sure that the latter isn't more likely. Puck has to repeat himself three times before Mike starts to take him seriously. In the end, it's Matt that convinces him that yes, Puck is being perfectly serious about them joining the glee club, and no, they weren't being given a choice.

He also finds out about Quinn, Britt and San joining and starts thinking that maybe he's hallucinating all of this. Cheerios joining show choir? He doesn't even have the words to describe how much that screws with his head (for the record, it's a _whole fuckin' lot_).

But he starts going to rehearsals, and is honestly stunned the first time he hears Rachel sing (the performance of Push It doesn't count, he was too distracted by . . . other things . . . to really listen to her voice). Who knew all that talent was hidden in this tiny girl? And when she beams at him and lets him know how impressed she is with his dancing, he thinks this might turn out okay after all.

A month after he joins, he is sort of surprised at himself when he sticks up for Kurt when some jackass from the hockey team starts mouthing off about him. He finds himself thinking that the gleeks are more than just the losers that McKinley High makes them out to be; they are real people, with actual feelings, and don't deserve to be treated the way they are. He feels guilty as soon as he forms _that_ thought, because really, it doesn't say much about him that he didn't see them as people before.

It's a month after that realization that Rachel actually _punches_ one of the football players when he calls Mike gay in her presence. Seriously, she knocked him to the _floor_. It turns out that despite her abhorrence for violence, Rachel has a black belt in Taekwondo, and does _not_ tolerate people using the word gay as an insult. Mike is shocked, but retains the presence of mind to smirk at his asshole of a teammate who is still reeling at being laid on his back by a _girl_. A girl that's _barely_ five foot two.

When he walks the stage at graduation two and a half years later with two wins at Nationals under his belt, he scans the crowd for his closest friends, all cheering loudly for him, and searches for more than just Matt, Puck, Finn, Quinn, San and Britt. He looks for Artie, who taught him to play Metallica's Orion on the guitar. Mercedes, who can belt out R&B like nobody's business and can _always_ make him laugh. Kurt, the guy who taught Mike everything he now knows about cars. Tina, who he discovered is a giant softie at heart (seriously, she cries at Disney movies) despite her tough rocker chick clothes and colour-streaked hair. And Rachel. Rachel, who kicked his ass into gear and is probably the only reason he got a scholarship at NYU. Rachel, who organized a _kickass_ New Directions road trip to California last year. Rachel, his amazing (and _incredibly hot_) girlfriend of a year and a half, who will be in New York with him next year.

And he thinks that joining glee? Is the best thing he's _ever_ done.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer:** Alas, still not mine._

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Jennifer Cohen-Chang calls her daughter from the kitchen of their two storey home. "Tina!"

The teen walks into the kitchen, pulling one of her iPod headphones out of her ear. "Yes?"

"Sorry to do this to you sweetie, but Maggie is coming over for dinner, and I need to be here when she arrives. Would you mind going to pick up your brother from practice?"

Tina groans. "Maggie? From your office? _That_ Maggie?"

"Yes, that Maggie. I know you're particularly fond of her but—"

"_I'm_ not fond of_ her_? That woman hates me! The last time she was here she actually asked me if I was in a Satanic cult!" she exclaims indignantly.

Her mother sighs. "I know, Tina, but could you please try to be nice to her? I have to work with the woman every day."

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbles. "Fine. I'll go get Adam."

"Thank you," says Jennifer, walking over to give her daughter a hug.

Tina smiles and picked up the car keys from the kitchen counter. There really isn't very much that she wouldn't do if her mother only asked, so she fully intends to play nice with her mom's coworker even if it kills her.

A few hours later, after dinner, Maggie is lamenting the fact that her son Marcus, who goes to McKinley with Tina, had gone out and gotten a tattoo. "A _tattoo_," she moans. "Can you believe it? And this was only a week after we caught him smoking pot with his friends!"

"Oh, dear," says Jennifer, making sympathetic noises. "How awful."

"I know. But then, I'm sure you know what I'm talking about," Maggie says, glancing over at Tina, who bites her lip to keep her mouth shut.

"I'm sure I don't," responds Jennifer calmly, though her eyes narrow a little.

"Oh, of course not _personally_," she simpers, not making any effort to hide her disdainful once-over of Tina's appearance. "I was just referring to teenagers in _general_."

"Oh, well, kids these days," Jennifer says noncommittally. She groans internally as Maggie continues to drone on about kids acting out, and ignores the pointed comment she makes about how happy she is that her children at least _look_ well-behaved.

The thing is, Jennifer has never understood this obsession with how your kids look. As far as she's concerned, the way her children _behave_ is much more important. Take Maggie's son Marcus. Yes, he dresses like an Abercrombie model and drives a nice car. But everyone knows he is something of a druggie and on the verge of flunking out of high school. Not to mention the DUI he had gotten earlier in the year. Tina, on the other hand, never touches drugs, and she and her mother talk about _everything._ She maintains a solid A- average at school, and has promised to call her mother if she ever does have too much to drink and needs to be picked up.

So as far as Jennifer is concerned, if her daughter's way of acting out is to wear a lot of black and dye her hair bright colours? That's just _fine_.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Not mine.**_

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When he hears the door to his room open and Matt walks in unexpectedly, he looks up and nods in greeting. "Hey."

"Hey Puck," Matt says, walking over to take a seat on the bed.

_Shit_, thinks Puck when his eyes fall on his bedside table. Sitting in plain sight on the wooden surface is a photograph he had been looking at this morning.

He breathes a sigh of relief when Matt simply flops onto his back, stretching out on the mattress. "What's up?" he says to his friend.

"Not too much. Wanted to see if you were interested in going to shoot some hoops down at the park."

"Sure. Not doing anything else right now," he shrugs, eyeing the picture that is now only inches from Matt's head. It is a little bit faded, and the edges are soft and slightly bent from years of handling. He keeps the picture in the bedside table drawer, and pulls it out more often than he cares to admit.

"Cool," says Matt. "Two on two? You call Finn and I'll call Mike."

"Yeah, sounds good," he says, reaching across his desk to grab his phone. He flips it open and hits speed dial number two. Finn quickly agrees to meet them at the park, and he snaps the phone shut. "Finn's in, he'll meet us there."

"Sweet," replies Matt, still lying on his back. "Mike too. You ready to head over?

"Yeah."

Matt sits up and swings his feet over the side of the bed. Puck knows his friend spots it when his dark eyes widen a fraction in surprise. "Dude," Matt says, picking up the picture. "That you?"

He sighs and walks over to sit next to his teammate, looking down at the snapshot of two dark haired children, a boy and a girl, standing on grass. Their hands are clasped, and the boy is pointing with his free hand at something in the distance as they laugh together. "Yeah. I was about eight years old, I think."

"Huh. Who's the girl? She looks kinda like—"

"Rachel Berry," he sighs.

Matt blinks. "Seriously? You keep a picture of you and _Rachel_ next to your bed?"

"Hey, it's not like _that_," he scowls, frantically trying to come up with an explanation for having the photo there. The truth is, he pulls it out whenever he feels like he's losing sight of himself, whenever he needs the reminder that he can make it through all the crap that life seems to like throwing at him. No way he's admitting that, though.

"Yeah? Then what's it like?" Matt says, raising an eyebrow.

"Berry and me, we go way back. We've known each other forever, grew up together. She's just . . ." he trails off, wondering how to finish the sentence in a way that Matt will understand.

_She's the girl who stunned me with her voice when we were _seven_. The one who, one day a year, makes sure one way or another that I forget it's the anniversary of when my father walked out. The girl who snuck me her cookies in the fifth grade when my mom went on that health kick. The one who, God knows why, never stopped believing in me even after I abandoned her in high school so I could be cool. _

_My speed dial number one, because even after all the shit I've put her through, I know I can _always_ count on her to be there for me. _

He doesn't know exactly what to say, but he knows he can't say all of _that._

"It's just that she's –"

Matt watches the struggle for the right words play across Puck's face, and cuts him off. "Yeah," he says, nodding in understanding. "I get it, I think. She's _Rachel_."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimed.**_

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He looks through the pouring rain from the comfort of his car, watching the figure huddled on the park bench. The person is staring off into the distance, seemingly unaware of anything around him, oblivious to the drenched state of his clothing. He slams a hand against his steering wheel, hating what he's about to do, but hating the thought of driving off even more.

He rolls down the window, allowing the raindrops to fall into his face as he honks the horn. "Get in here!" he yells. The person turns to look at him blankly, but doesn't move. He rakes his hand back through his hair in irritation. "Dude, come _on_!"

The figure on the bench shakes his head and turns away. He mutters under his breath, and opens his car door in resignation, hopping out and sprinting over to the bench to shake the person's shoulder.

"Puck, come on. Just get in the car. Your mom will _kill_ me if I leave you out here like this."

"Why do you care, after today?"

He snorts, but he knows it is a valid question. Today he found out that Quinn's baby? Not his, not by a long shot. His best friend is the father. _Puck_. So by all rights, he should be furious, but right now he can't find it in himself to be angry at the troubled person before him.

So he tells the truth. "Look, I may or may not hate you right now. But we've been through a lot of shit together. Playing t-ball, getting in trouble for throwing mud at your mother, getting in even more trouble for breaking three windows in my house. My dad dying, your dad leaving. So yeah, I'm pissed. But you're still my _brother_."

Puck looks up at Finn's words, the rain bouncing off his face in big wet drops.

Finn watches, smiling ever so slightly, as the mohawked boy gets in the car.


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N:** Clearly, I will not reach my goal of 50 drabbles by the time I leave South Africa. I am, however, really enjoying writing them (as infrequently as it happens) so I think I will continue with this particular project._

_Requests are welcome! What would you guys like to see?_

_**Still not mine.**_

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When the time comes for getting class rings, Brittany is thrilled to learn that they can personalize them by selecting the emblems that go on the sides of the ring. She listens as all her friends agonize over their choices, but doesn't really understand their indecision. She didn't even have to think twice about what to put on _her_ ring, shouldn't it be the same for them?

Santana goes back and forth over her decision as much as everyone else does, and is surprised when Brittany tells her that she has already picked her two insignia and ordered the ring. "Well?" she asks the blonde bluntly. "What did you choose? And how did you decide?"

"It was easy," Brittany says, a little confused. "I wanted to have the two things I'm most proud of, and there were only two things that came to mind right away."

"And? What were they?" demands the Latina.

"The National Honor Society torch for one side, and a musical note, for Glee, for the other," Brittany replies, uncertain what her best friend would think. "You don't mind that I didn't pick the cheerleading pom-poms, do you?"

Santana thinks about it for a minute. Brittany loves Glee, and the original twelve members of New Directions have become their own little family. And contrary to popular belief, the blonde is very intelligent; she just needed a little pushing in the right direction to do well in her classes, and she quickly found herself doing well in all her classes. (The push? Came in the form of one Rachel Berry.) When Brittany was inducted into the National Honor Society, no one cheered harder for her than her Glee teammates.

So yes, Santana is a little surprised that Brittany didn't pick a symbol to commemorate her time as a Cheerio. But she couldn't be prouder of her friend for her two choices, because she knows those are the two things for which the blonde has worked the hardest.

"No, Brit. I think that's perfect. I don't mind at all," Santana smiles.


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N:**_ _No, I haven't given up! This came to me out of nowhere, and it turned out a lot longer than I originally intended. I am not sure whether I like it or not. Please let me know if there are any characters you would like to see starring in my next drabbles, it'll help me get them out faster. _

_**Disclaimed.**_

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You're really not sure how you got here.

You know that you're overweight, and that it's really bad for you in the long run. You _know_. And it's not that you don't want to be thinner, because you really do. You are completely aware that if you were thinner, people (_high schoolers_) would probably be more accepting of you. You weren't always this way, after all. It was only a few short years ago that you began gaining so much weight.

It's just that you really are comfortable with who you are as a person, because you believe that it's more important what you are on the inside than what you look like on the outside. And after your experience as a Cheerio, you have absolutely no desire to starve yourself just to conform, and you've never been able to stick to a diet.

So you carry on, knowing that you should lose some weight, but refusing to let it rule your life. You are _happy_ with yourself, dammit, and you don't want a number on your scale to change that for you.

And then something unexpected happens.

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It's the beginning of senior year, and you know that you gained some weight over the summer, but you didn't think it was a big deal. But then Rachel Berry comes up to you, her big brown eyes serious, and says she wants to talk to you in private and could you come to her house after school?

You agree because you're curious, which is how you find yourself walking up the stairs to Rachel's bedroom that afternoon. The last thing you expect to come out of her mouth when you're settled on her bed is that she's _worried_ about you. That she has noticed your weight gain over the years, and that she is here for you if anything is wrong.

Your initial reaction is to get angry. You yell at her, furious that she dared to bring up what you try not to think about. She just sits at her desk and takes it, letting you scream at her until you have nothing left to say. Then she reaches for a photo album on her shelf and hands it to you without saying a word.

You flip through it, shock slowly registering on your face. The album is full of pictures of Rachel, probably 10 or 11 years old. She is smiling brightly for the camera in some photos, while others are snapshots of her not even looking at the camera. She looks happy.

She looks _fat_.

The Rachel in the photos is recognizable based on her features, but looks like she weighs _at least _twice as much as the Rachel sitting in front of you now. You moved here at the beginning of high school, and the Rachel you know has always been slender and fit. The girl in these pictures is overweight in a way that you never were as a kid, in a way that makes the term _childhood obesity_ suddenly make sense.

And just like that, your rage is replaced with overwhelming sadness, and you break down crying in Rachel Berry's bedroom. She rushes over to put her arms around you, and you are grateful that she doesn't say anything, just looks at you with understanding writ large across her features.

That afternoon marks a turning point. You start really making an effort to lose weight after that, exercising more and eating healthier foods. The pounds start coming off, and you are happy about it, ecstatic even, but you're more focused on being _healthy_ than being _thin_.

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By the time graduation rolls around, you've managed to lose 20 pounds, and you feel better and happier and _healthier _than you have in a long time. At the New Directions party that night, when Kurt talks you into belting out Beautiful, you smile and agree, and find yourself relating to the song in a completely different way from when you originally sang it as a Cheerio that afternoon so long ago. When the last chords of the song die down, you look directly over at Rachel and mouth the words _thank you_. She nods back and smiles before pressing herself to Mike's side, his arm automatically coming around her waist as she returns her attention to the conversation going on around her.

At the end of the night, when everyone is yawning and climbing into their sleeping bags, Kurt asks you why you thanked Rachel at the end of the song, and you falter, not knowing what to say to him. You finally decide that the truth is easiest.

_It's hard to explain and you wouldn't understand, _can't_ understand unless you go through the same thing Rachel and I did. Let's just say that the two of us had a lot more in common than I ever thought we would._


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: **This was inspired by a scene in a fic (www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/6070120/1/Break_your_heart_to_save_your_life) by **timeworn grace** (www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/2391809/), who very graciously gave me permission to spin off of her idea. So my thanks to timeworn grace, and I hope you all go check out that story!_

_Glee is still not mine, sadly._

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He takes a moment to watch everyone before stepping into the room. Santana and Brit are sitting at the top of the risers, pinkies linked, talking about their newest Cheerios routine. Tina is perching on Artie's lap, laughing as they talk with Mercedes and Quinn about something that had happened at lunch. Rachel is sitting at the edge of the piano bench, talking animatedly with Finn about the duet they are working on. Mike sits astride the bench behind the pint-sized diva, content to listen in with his arms wrapped around the brunette's waist, holding his girlfriend flush against his chest. Matt and Puck are on the other side of the room, passing a football back and forth.

He takes a deep breath, hating what he is about to do to these people that have become his family. But then his hand flits to the stitches above his swollen and bruised right eye, to the edge of his split lip, and he steels himself for what he knows he must do.

He steps into the room and looks at Mr. Schuester, who nods back at him encouragingly and clears his throat, sympathy clear in his eyes. "Guys," the teacher says. "Kurt needs to tell you all something."

They all stop and turn to him expectedly, some of them wincing when they see the state of his face. They all know what happened, but that doesn't make it any easier to see.

"I'm not going to nationals with you," he says quietly.

"WHAT!" shrieks Mercedes. "Kurt, nationals are in a week and a half, what's going on?"

Everyone stares at him in shock, waiting for his answer. "I'm transferring to Carmel, guys."

The silence holds for a moment before the room erupts into chaos. "You're doing _what_ now?" yells Santana. "How are we going to find another guy in time for nationals?"

"Kurt, seriously, what's going on?" repeats Mercedes.

"Dude, those jackasses already got expelled, is this really necessary?" questions Finn.

"Isn't there something else that you can do? Mr. Schue, you must have some ideas!" exclaims Quinn.

He notices that Rachel is silent as the rest of the group carries on about alternative options and how screwed they are for nationals. She simply stares at him, taking in his haggard posture, the haunted look in his eyes and the way he jumps slightly when someone in the hall slams a locker shut. And then she smiles at him sadly, and does something that none of them expected.

"Everyone," she says, disentangling herself from Mike's embrace so that she can stand up to face them all. "Let him go."

They fall into stunned silence, and his eyes widen at her authoritative tone, shocked that she should be the one standing up for him. Of everyone in the room, he expected her to be the one most upset at him leaving them in the lurch just before nationals.

"It's safer for him there," she continues. Right?" she says to him, coming to stand next to him.

He nods mutely, tears welling up in his eyes as it finally hits him, _hard_, that he will be leaving these people behind. She smiles at him again and takes his hand in hers, squeezing lightly in reassurance. "Then you do what you need to do. We'll all support you." Her eyes flash defiantly, daring anyone to disagree with her.

He pulls her into a grateful hug when they all start to nod and call out that they'll still be his friends and there for him when he needs them. "Nationals will be there next year, Kurt," she murmurs to him. "Don't worry about that, just take care of yourself, okay?"

The tears finally spill over at her concerned words. "Thank you, diva," he says.


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N:**__ This came to me completely out of the blue. I like that Santana and Brittany have what I see as a really strong friendship, which I think is the best kind of foundation for a relationship._

_Incidentally, I don't think I ever mentioned that I was inspired to write these one-shots and drabbles by __**GingerGleek**__, an amazing fanfic author whose work you should absolutely check out. She is currently on her third installment of Glee drabbles (__**Drabbles A La Glee 3**__), which is awesome. I really liked the idea of having a collection of unrelated, non-character-specific drabbles, especially because I often have ideas for short scenes bouncing around my head without any clue how to fit them into longer stories. So I latched onto the idea and went with it._

_**Disclaimed.**_

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"San?" the blonde says worriedly, staring at the Latina. "Say something!"

Santana lifts her head then to look her girlfriend in the eyes, and Brittany is shocked to see the sheen of tears there. The normally bubbly girl instantly panics, because this is _Santana_, and she _never_ cries, not in all the years they've known each other. Not when they were playmates in the sandbox in elementary school, not when they endured the tyrannical reign of Sue Sylvester together, not in college when they pledged the same sorority, and certainly not since they moved to Boston together so that Brittany could open a dance studio and Santana could work at a big law firm there.

"It's too much, isn't it? I'm—I'm sorry, I know you wanted to be able to see other people and do the whole open relationship thing, but these past months it's just been you and me, so I thought maybe it was okay now," she babbles. "Is it Mark? Or Chris? Oh, god, it is, it's Chris, isn't it? It's about Chris. I know you really liked him. It's okay, really, I still love you, and I can take it back—"

The former head Cheerio abruptly pulls the blonde's face down to her own for a passionate kiss, effectively cutting her off. Brittany looks at her, confused. "San?"

"It's not too much," she says lowly, her voice wavering with the threat of tears. "It's perfect. _You're_ perfect, Brit." She stares down at the marquise cut diamond ring nestled in the small box her girlfriend holds, the tears now spilling over silently.

Brittany wraps her arms around the Latina hesitantly, then pulls back, brushing a kiss against Santana's forehead. "Are you sure, San? Because if you're not ready for this, if you still want time, that's okay, I'm not going anywhere. This isn't an ultimatum."

Santana shakes her head vehemently. "_No_. I'm ready for this, I don't want anyone else. I don't think I ever really did, Brit, no one can compare to you." They are both smiling widely now, and the blonde reaches forward to tenderly cup her girlfriend's—_fiancee's_—face before leaning in for another kiss.

"I love you, San."

"I love you too," the brunette breathes. "It's always been you, Brit. _Always_."


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: **__Because I'm missing Matt on the show. _

_**Disclaimed.**_

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Matt looks at the petite brunette sitting next to him on the bus in concern, wondering why she suddenly went all rigid. "Rach?" he gently nudges her. "You okay?"

"I am fine, Matthew, thank you," she smiles stiffly.

"Are you sure? You got all upset, or something, when Mr. Schue said our next stop is the Empire State Building."

"You must be imagining things," she says tightly. "I assure you there is nothing amiss." He cocks an eyebrow at her in doubt at her forced tone, but leaves it alone.

As they all file into the lobby of the building, he notices that her hands are clenched into fists at her sides, and her knuckles are turning white. He frowns, trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong. The pint-sized girl had been extremely enthusiastic about seeing all the sights while the club was in New York, going so far as to correct their tour guides on some trivial details at a few of the places they went. Her current tight-lipped silence is unusual and, frankly, worrying.

He ends up standing in the elevator next to her, and as they start the ascent to the top, the blood drains from her tanned face. He furrows his brow, thinking he may have an inkling of the source of her discomfort.

"Heights?" he says quietly in her ear, watching carefully for her reaction. When she turns her face up at him, her eyes are wide, and she nods almost imperceptibly. Matt reaches down and links their hands together, giving her a comforting squeeze, and she presses herself against him automatically.

They finally reach the top, and he can see the fear in her big brown eyes as she steps off the elevator. Everyone else is laughing and talking around them, exhilarated by the view, but he only has eyes for the girl clinging to his arm.

"Group shot!" one of the girls calls out, and Rachel freezes as everyone begins to move to the edge of the building to line up in front of the railing. Matt can feel her hand trembling in his own, and runs his thumb over her fingers soothingly. It seems to help, and she takes halting steps towards the rest of the group, plastering a bright, fake smile onto her face. When the two of them reach the railing, she forces herself to look out at the impressive view before her before turning around to face the camera.

She feels strong arms wrap around her waist from behind, and she instinctively relaxes against Matt's chest. "You're okay, babe," he whispers. "I've got you."


	14. Chapter 14

_Still not mine, alas. _

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He sighs as he walks up the steps to the Berrys' front door, wishing he could have stayed home to catch the end of the Buckeyes game instead of coming here to work on an assignment for glee. But here he is, because despite how much he loves Ohio State football, he doesn't want to risk having the Wrath of Berry directed at him because he was late for their meeting.

One of Rachel's fathers opens the door shortly after he rings the doorbell. "Oh, you must be Michael," he says, waving him through the door. "Please, come in. Rachel is in the living room. You're here for glee?"

Mike nods. "We have an assignment for next week that we're working on, and Rachel said she had some ideas she wanted to discuss."

"Ah," the tall, lean man says dryly. "Well, you may have to wait a while."

The lanky Asian stares at him in puzzlement as he finishes taking off his shoes. "Isn't she home?"

"No, she's definitely home," he laughs. "But—"

"Oh, _come on!_" Mike's eyes widen at the feminine shriek coming from the living room. "Pass interference!"

He blinks. _Is that Berry? Yelling about _pass interference_? _Wordlessly, he follows Rachel's father into the living room, where he is greeted with a sight that makes him wonder if he is having some sort of strange dream.

Rachel is sitting cross-legged on the couch, a bowl of tortilla chips in her lap and a smaller bowl of salsa resting on the coffee table in front of her. More than that, she is wearing a hooded OSU _sweatshirt_, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and _jeans_. As if that weren't enough reason to make him question his own sanity, she is leaning forward, eyes glued to the huge plasma screen TV mounted on the wall, which clearly depicts the OSU game that had just gone into overtime when he left home.

_What. The. Fuck._

He turns to look at her father in bewilderment, but the older man just chuckles at his expression. "You might as well have a seat and watch the game, son," he says kindly. "You can't pry her away from an OSU game with a crowbar."

Dazed, Mike walks over to take a seat next to Rachel on the couch. She smiles at him as she registers his presence, but quickly returns her attention to the screen when she hears the ref's voice. "YES!" she cheers as the ref does indeed call pass interference on the defense, giving the Buckeyes an automatic first down.

"Um," he says dumbly. "Hi Rachel."

"Hello Michael!" she says, still intent on the game. "Oh, what was _that_?" she groans as the quarterback gets sacked.

Mike finally gets over his shock and grins, shaking his head at this unlikely turn of events. _Might as well enjoy the game, right?_

He is surprised at how much he likes this relaxed version of Rachel. She cheers just as loud as he does when OSU makes forward progress, glares daggers at the TV when one of the commentators says he thinks Michigan has been the better team this game, and more often than not she calls the penalty before he even sees the flag.

She squeals when the Buckeyes win, and suddenly he finds himself with a lap full of Rachel Berry. Her arms are around his neck, and he laughs as he pulls her closer in a celebratory hug. She's so happy she's practically _glowing_, and honestly he doesn't exactly hate the feeling of having her in his arms. He knows he's in trouble when she flashes him a wide, bright smile as she pulls back off his lap, and his stomach does that weird flip-flop thing.

"So," he starts, playfully. "Never would have pegged you for a football fan, Rachel."

She makes a face at him, crinkling her nose. "It is just such an intricate game, I was entranced the first time I saw it on TV. And I _adore_ the Buckeyes!"

"Glad to hear you're not a fan of a team from some ritzy New York school," he teases.

Her jaw drops. "Michael Chang!" she huffs indignantly. "I'll have you know my _entire family_, on both sides, are OSU fans! My very first article of clothing was an OSU onesie! My insistence that we needed a better screen for watching Buckeyes games is the _only_ reason we have this ridiculously large television!"

He laughs, slinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close again. "I was just kidding, Rach. Calm down."

"Oh," she deflates, relaxing into him. She brightens after just a few moments, looking over at him. "Are you a big OSU fan too? And wasn't that a _fantastic_ game?"

"Yeah, on both counts" he agrees with a smile. "Although I have to say, it looked much better on your TV than mine."

"As I just mentioned, we procured it so that I could watch OSU in high-def. It's nice for other reasons, too, though. You should see how Modern Warfare 2 looks on it!" she beams, and his eyes go wide as saucers at the last piece of information she casually dropped.

And that, right there? Is when he decides that Rachel Berry was going to be _his_.


End file.
